The Village Mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
villagemod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
Entry tags:
test drive — spring
SPRING TEST DRIVE
Welcome to the test drive and thank you for your interest in The Village. This test drive is not game canon but will allow players the opportunity to experiment with game mechanics, the setting, and the flexibility of choice allowed by this game. The following prompts are examples of typical situations characters might face in the game. At least one thread from the TDM is required as part of the game's application process.
Prospective players are welcome to play with any of the established locations within Mathias.( Recommended listening: ♫ )
GHOSTS OF THE LIVING
The fog moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. It is not a soft blanket enveloping the town, but a heavy weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate as the sky is blotted out and no one can see more than ten feet in any direction.
Those who are outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, hoping that a randomly chosen direction will lead them to shelter or another living soul. There are perhaps even those who were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in. Wherever they are, the residents of Mathias will soon notice that they are not the only ones in the fog.
Anyone out in the fog is left disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.
With all of these elements at play, the first strange apparitions encountered may be assumed to be figments of addled minds, tricks played by psyches struggling to cope with the strange reality they've found themselves in. But before long, there will be no denying that the Others in the fog are real. Appearing almost wraithlike and startlingly recognizable, these figures even feel a bit like ghosts to those who can sense such things, though everyone will feel that there is something wrong about them. Truly, there are many things wrong that residents will begin to notice as they encounter more and more of the spectres that do not acknowledge their presence in any way. They simply exist, silent and subtly terrifying like so many things in this town.
Like misty ghosts of those who have been in the town at one point or another, the Others appear as those who have died or disappeared and even those currently within the town. The likeness is truly uncanny, to the point of being completely terrifying, made even more so when they realize there is no way to communicate with the Others. They do not acknowledge anyone's presence nor anything said to them. At times, they may be only one in an area, or there may be a dozen existing in the same space. There is no limit to how many people can see them — if they are there, they are seen by all.
The Others do not enter buildings and cannot be contained in any way. They can appear at one moment and be gone in the next, or they can exist in one place for hours on end. Whether standing stationary or slowly wandering throughout the town, there is no discernible purpose to them. There is something absent and distant in the way they hold themselves, the way they walk, and their expressions, as if even they cannot grasp what is happening.
A BIT OF EXPLORATION
There are plenty of places in which to get one's bearings and hide from the fog.
There are businesses on the square, nestled around and extending out from the Town Hall. There is a schoolhouse nestled by the southern treeline, not from the rather expansive makeshift cemetery at the end of Jackson Boulevard that is courtesy of a few kind residents in town. To the far north of the square is a sprawling garden, now covered in snow, and a greenhouse that once supplied the botanical shop. And to the east and west, beyond the business square, is are residential districts.
The eastern district sprawls all the way to the beach, with some houses in perfect condition and others beginning to show significant signs of age. The western district, however, is nothing but decay. From the beginnings of rot to completely collapsed and little more than a pile of proverbial bones, none of these homes are anything resembling livable. Well, as far as one can tell, at least. For between the streets of Hill Lane and Stine Road there is a crack in the earth. A dozen feet across and fifty feet down, there is no way across.
TO SEE AND BE SEEN
Standing at the center of Mathias, the Town Hall is a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence within its empty halls. It's a typical government building, with a reception desk at the front and rows of identical offices within, the names half faded from each door. But what catches the attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall beside the reception desk, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.
What it holds now is decidedly different. Covering the board are tacked-on scraps of paper covered in an assortment of handwriting styles — requests for supplies should anyone find them, pieces of information shared in the hopes of someone understanding the strange symbols and mathematical equations, notes about those missing or recently deceased. And painted directly across the center of the board, visible in the gaps between the pieces of paper, is a symbol in dark red. While peering at that obscured symbol, a strange breeze ruffles the papers, revealing a little more, just enough to—
An eye. A strange, ornate eye with three lobes, painted in still-wet red. And upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the paint is actually blood, perhaps even human.
The longer someone stands there, the more it will feel like they are being watched, even studied, with great interest. It's a sensation that lingers and stays with them even when they exit the building.
no subject
Well, some arts. Okay, not really any particular arts that come to mind.
But he does have some proficiency in the ancient art of "raw capacity to get so into looking through a book that he looks back up when he's done and it's been 2 days," which is mostly the type of skill that gets employed without him really noticing. Case in point: this C.S. Lewis title that, while not the type of early edition that he'd want in his shop, has some very key differences that are too consistent to be a simple print error.
The sound of books hitting the floor startles him. He jumps like it's his professional duty to jump. ]
Oh-- [ And only narrowly avoids dropping his own book. Smooth.
It's only a human, at least. Actual human, not depressing fog purgatory human.
Small mercies. ]
Sorry! [ For... he will figure out what he did that he apologized for, right now. He'll take his best guess. ] Terribly sorry, I- didn't mean to startle you. Must have missed you coming in or I would've, would've said something. Are you alright?
no subject
You reminded me of someone. ...Like the ghosts outside. Like them, but not like them. Did... did you just arrive here?
no subject
Unfortunate turn of luck is all, it seems like. Makes sense, thinking about the poor souls out there, that people would be-- oh, what is it? On edge? On edge.
Some of the nervous tension drains out of his posture, his expression. He keeps at his current distance just in case. Be a shame to remind this young man of something like that too much. Sort of goes against the whole angel gig. ]
I'm afraid so. Not-- not the most pleasant change in scenery, is it? [ What, being disappeared into a ghost town full of ghost fog?? Yes. ] Bit spooky, actually.
no subject
Spooky! Yes. It... it sure is that.
[He looks around, possibly avoiding the man's eyes on account of them being so familiar and so not at the same time.]
Where. Um. Where are you from?
no subject
He tries to swallow back at least the leftover nerves from being startled.
On the bright side, he's certainly had much worse conversations in his lifetime. ]
London. Well, Soho, more specifically. [ He doesn't know what the specificity will accomplish, it's just that he's already said it.
He smiles, nervous and short-lived. ]
I, I actually run a bookshop there. Wouldn't say it's very like this one, but. [ A shrug. ] It's sort of familiar being around a lot of books at all. Suppose I should be grateful for that.
[ Could just as easily have nothing of the sort. ]
I take it you're not from around here, either?
no subject
no subject
How wonderful. You know, I've always thought law enforcement was a very noble pursuit. Getting out there and, and choosing to do good. Keep the peace. Especially for someone so young.
[ Humans do have a way of being brave and clever on their own merit. Taking up difficult paths. Remarkable things, really. ]
Oh! Um. My name is Aziraphale, by the way. Circumstances aside, it's a pleasure to meet you.
[ He gives a very short little wave. ]
no subject
no subject
Ohhhhh, yes. Right. Lodging. [ A very important thing that humans do in new places. ] Suppose I can't just live at this shop.
[ Alas. The cruel hand of fate. On the other hand, already knowing that obviously nothing will hold a candle to home makes this a less stressful concept. ]
I haven't had to, to 'house hunt' in quite some time. There aren't going to be too many options to sort through, are there?
no subject
“I mean... you could live here. Nobody is going to stop you. But. ...There’s something wrong with this place.”
He glances towards the door.
“There’s a boarding house nearby, if you just want a room for now. A friend of mine lives there; he’d help if you need anything. You can also choose any abandoned house but... you might want to choose a house with people once you make friends. So you’re not alone.”
no subject
It would be one thing if he could work out what the something is. Easier to live around an unknown, ominous something if you've got an idea where to start.
Then again, having this conversation at all has made its case for the fact that people would be in and out for books all the time anyway. And unlike home, he couldn't just close up if he needed the space. Oh, well. Ships in the night.
His expression warms up entirely from there. At the end of the day, there's compassion and care that goes into taking the time to answer a question, to sincerely advise someone about anything at all. Aziraphale is the exact sort of soft touch who's always been easy to win over. It's him.
Comes in the package with loving humanity very much already, maybe.
"I'm sure just a room will be fine, dear boy, thank you. If you give me your friend's name, I'll be sure to-- make his acquaintance. Get introduced."
He misses his whole one friend. Hopefully Crowley's at least alright, wherever he is.
no subject
Malcolm just stares at him a moment before shaking it off.
“Klaus. His names is Klaus. Hargreeves.”